


Of all the gin joints in all the world

by sordes



Series: We Have to Stop Meeting like This [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Spanking, Squirting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes/pseuds/sordes
Summary: Aranea swiveled on her stool to face Prompto. She crossed her legs, rubbing one of her feet up Prompto’s calf. “I’m here to get laid, dummy.”Prompto blinked once, twice, then downed the rest of his drink in one painful gulp.Prompto and Aranea meet three years after the incident in the cave outside of Gralea.





	Of all the gin joints in all the world

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [accursedspatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedspatula).

Prompto didn’t think there could possibly be anything that smelled worse than a marlboro’s breath. It was a combination of everything foul imaginable—sour milk, rotting meat, acrid sulfur, and just a _hint_ of something nauseatingly cheesy underneath it all. He could remember how just the slightest whiff made the hair on his neck and arms stand up, how it knocked all of the wind out of him, yet simultaneously seeped in through his nose and mouth and continued to assault him from the inside. He could still feel the slight, sour rise of bile in the back of his throat when he caught a smell of something similar—though, _thank the Six_ , he’d never smelled anything that came close it since that day in the Balouve Mines.

Still, if the marlboro’s breath came in first place on Prompto’s _I’d rather die than be subjected to that again_ list, the scent of rotting trash, somehow _still_ sunbaked despite the fact that the sun had gone down three years ago and never come back up, came in at a close second.

Lestallum was always hot and a bit smelly, but that came with the territory. The narrow streets made it impossible for any trucks to collect garbage on a regular basis like they would in Insomnia, and the high population density meant Lestallum made a lot of trash. That, combined with the famous open air markets and food stalls also meant Lestallum made, in particular, a lot of _stinky_ trash consisting of half-eaten food and inedible scraps. The oppressive heat only compounded things, encompassing the otherwise charming, winding streets in a foul miasma of _stink_.

Logistically there wasn’t much that could be done to fix the problem, not without significant changes to the existing infrastructure and reeducating a city _that had always done things that way_. The locals were simply used to it and the tourists got used to it.

Prompto found, however, that no matter how many times he walked the streets or how long he stayed in the city, he _never_ acclimated to it. It was tolerable most times, just a slight whiffiness, but others, he’d turn a corner and be assailed by three day old stinky tofu, making his eyes water and triggering his gag reflex.

Since the sun stopped coming up, Lestallum became a center for refugees from all over, and adding more bodies into an already cramped city did little to help things. The ‘days’ were still hot, even without the sun, and what with the world ending and all, laws of decency and personal hygiene had gone out the window after the first year of darkness. Now Prompto would have _dreamed_ to round a corner and just be hit with the odor of someone’s half-eaten kebab. Instead, it was a combination of piss, unwashed armpit, and vomit laden with the chemical sting of rubbing alcohol.

Because of this, Prompto didn’t like to stay long in Lestallum. There was no denying the city was a logistically necessary hub, and pretty much one of the only places to go to see a real doctor or sleep in a real bed. But even so, Prompto found he preferred the network of uncompromised havens or even the cold, hard cement in Hammerhead to dealing with the unwashed smell of Lestallum.

Prompto could feel the pit in his stomach grow as the truck he was riding in approached the checkpoints outside the city. ‘Checkpoint’ was a strong word—piles of wreckage and rubble that funneled any desperate daemons into a choke point was more accurate. The swaying of the truck as the driver negotiated the sharp turns only hastened the early onset of nausea in Prompto, who was gulping down his last breaths of fresh air from his seat in the back before the odor hit him.

It was just a quick stopover—one night to restock supplies—and he’d be gone. Even without the smell, there was no reason for him to linger, no one for him to catch up with or reminisce about the good old days with over a beer. Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio had shared a hole in the wall place for a few years or so, starting from just after Noctis’ disappearance. With Noct gone, though, it was like the glue that held them together had dissipated, and they quickly found out just how little they had in common without him. Over time they’d gone their separate ways with Gladio finding himself a much wanted commodity amongst the Hunters and venturing far away from Lestallum’s walls, and Ignis making frequent trips to Galdin Quay, though he’d never say outright what for.

In time Prompto, too, found himself longing to get out of the city—to escape the stink, the lonely apartment, to be useful and _helpful_. Those were the reasons he told to others, but in reality, Prompto had another reason he kept to himself: he was simply _bored_. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he _missed_ the action and verve his life had before everything went to shit, before he lost his best friend and the world ended. He even missed the danger. The way his adrenaline would get pumping, how his revolver felt in his hand—the sharp pangs of recoil and the scent of gunpowder. He even missed the way a red-hot casing would sometimes fly by his cheek, so close he could feel the heat radiating off it, barely a hair’s breadth away from hitting him.

So he’d left, too; handed over the keys to the flat to their gruff landlord. As none of them actually liked being there, what was the point in holding onto it?

Prompto hopped out of the truck when it finally came to a lurching stop outside the ramshackle barrier that closed off the once open path into the city. It had been— _what? 4, 5 months?_ since Prompto had last been in Lestallum, yet it looked the same as always. Grimacing to himself, Prompto reaffirmed his grip on the bag slung over his shoulder and headed for barricade. As the gate, aptly made of a few junkers, was drawn up, the full onslaught of the smell hit him. Already feeling a sting in his eye, Prompto entered, and as soon as he was across the threshold, the junkers slammed down behind him, trapping him inside.

\---

Prompto’s to-do list was taken care of quickly enough, even with the unusual hours most people kept in Lestallum. A result of there being no defined night/day cycle was everyone’s circadian rhythm gradually got more and more desynced. At this point, _not_ having horrible insomnia made you a freak.

He’d replenished his supply of curatives, bandages, the usual first aid kit fluff, and made it over to one of the second hand shops—at this point, pretty much _everything_ was a second hand shop—and grabbed a lightly worn pair of boots to replace his, which were covered in enough duct tape to keep them together that they looked like some kind of space age statement piece out of one of those dime back novels Gladio loved to read.

Seeing as Prompto’s arsenal—handguns, revolvers, even a SMG—were _magic_ , weapon maintenance and ammunition were the least of his concerns. That was one thing he and the others were unable to explain or account for—despite Noct’s disappearance, they were still able to call upon his power and summon their weapons. Still, the fear that one day the magic would fade and he’d be left in the wilds defenseless was always present in the back of Prompto’s mind, so he carried a physical revolver, just in case. He made a stop at his trusted gunsmith’s shop to get it tuned up, and while it was something Prompto could do himself, naturally, he preferred someone else to do it. Though he kept it tucked in its holster just under his left arm, he hated to touch it. It felt as though just having it, let alone touching it, was a betrayal. An acknowledgement that Noct was gone and very possibly never coming back.

Still, Prompto was able to swallow his guilt enough to be _practical_ , and ensured his sidearm got a once over whenever he passed through town. His guy even cleaned it, though there was no need for it as it had yet to be fired, murmuring more to himself than to Prompto how lucky she was to be so well taken care of. Cringing slightly to himself, Prompto had to wonder if he’d ever acted like that around Noct or the others, letting his gun nut side show.

With his piece given as much attention as she’d get (hopefully) for the next few months and slipped back into her holster, Prompto had one last stop on his list. Film, _blank_ film, had become increasingly rare over the years. It was a nonessential that didn’t warrant saving or collecting to most, not when canned goods and prescription drugs were top of the priority list. Still, every now and then Prompto would come across a canister of half used film in a shop. He’d felt guilty about it first, using the remaining bits of it, like he was intruding into someone’s private life. But with time, and desperation, he’d fallen into using whatever he could get his hands on. Prompto was in the habit of offloading any full rolls of film onto Cindy when he’d made his way to Hammerhead, at least for safe keeping, as developing any it was out of the question.

But increasingly, he also found there wasn’t much that drew his eye and made him want to snap a photo. The lighting was nearly always fucked, what with the sun not existing anymore, and even at a haven or in some semblance of society, what point was there in capturing the deteriorating vestiges of hope and humanity? Sure, it wasn’t as if _everyone_ had given up. Good people were still fighting, still clinging to the way things were, and still trying to make things right. But their numbers were dwindling—a side effect to venturing out amongst the daemons in search of supplies or in an attempt to spread the good will and help others, really.

Prompto got lucky this time, chancing upon a roll of _practically_ unused film stored in a plastic tube, on display at a stall, tucked away down one of Lestallum’s many labyrinthine back streets. He traded the haggard woman minding the stall some gil and a working lighter he’d found at a haven for the canister and tucked it into his bag where his camera was. He had no idea when inspiration would next choose to strike, but he reasoned that it was better having some useable film on hand than get caught with his pants down.

With each item on Prompto’s to-do list checked off, there was little to do but hit the hay and wait for ‘morning’, when the next caravans leaving the city were set to take off. He’d hitch a ride and be on his way, back into the dark wilds.

Nose scrunched up, Prompto considered his options. There was always a cot or sleeping bag available at the makeshift Hunter’s HQ, but every time Prompto showed his face there he’d be assailed with the hard sell of ‘officially’ joining up—like that meant anything in this day and age. There were a number of cathouses that were usually open to lending a room out, for the right price, of course, but again, Prompto didn’t feel like dealing with an aggressive sales pitch tonight. Besides, he wasn’t really that tired just yet and regardless, he found it hard to fall asleep with so much stink and noise around him.

Lodgings could wait, he supposed. If there was _one_ good thing about being back in ‘civilization’, it was definitely the bars.

Thirsty, a bit hungry, and very ready to get away from the stink of the streets, Prompto set off down the dark, snaky alleyways, past the piles of uncollected garbage, to his favorite haunt.

\---

Prompto entered the dive, the smell of the old, worn leather booths and cigarette smoke a welcome reprieve, and immediately found himself making eye contact with an old friend seated at the bar. Fucking Aranea Highwind. He hadn’t seen her in years, not since they were separated outside of Gralea, though he’d heard plenty of her exploits. As a mercenary once employed by the literal axis of evil, she’d been busy trying to redeem her karma, it seemed.

Still, she looked just how he remembered her—how he even saw her in his dreams, from time to time. Eyes fierce and intelligent, lips drawn into a slight pout, the barest hint of a flush across her cheeks from the drink in her hand. Her shoulders were bare and armor nowhere to be found; it was almost like seeing a teacher out in public way back in Insomnia, incredibly weird and disarming.

Prompto just blinked at her for a beat, questioning if she were real.

He had spent a good three years occasionally recalling the events that took place in that cave the night she’d found him on the edge of doing something stupid. Prompto had heard that if you recalled a memory too much, your mind would start to rewrite it, tweak it, until it eventually was so full of fabrications it was impossible to tell what really happened and what didn’t. Still, Prompto was _pretty_ sure Aranea had rode his face to orgasm, then returned the favor and sucked him off, while helping him get acquainted with his prostate. _Pretty sure_ , at least.

“Holy shit, Blondie, what the _hell_ is that on your chin?” Aranea’s wonderfully harsh voice crashed through his reverie yanking Prompto back to the present.

Yep, she was definitely real.

Prompto flashed what he hoped was a cocky grin—picked up from Gladio—and ‘swaggered’ over in an attempt reflect his more ‘rugged’ and ‘mature’ appearance. (In reality Prompto pretty much looked the same as he did before everything went to shit, although he had managed to grow _some_ facial hair, currently working on a _sick_ goatee.) For a moment, it all went well, right up until he nearly tripped and stumbled over his own two feet as he hoped onto the bar stool next to Aranea.

“ _This?_ ” He indicated to said ‘sick’ goatee, steamrolling past his fumbled entrance. “ _This_ is—”

“The most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my life. What were you thinking?” Aranea laughed as she knocked back a mouthful of whatever hard liquor she was drinking.

Red flashed across Prompto’s face and he surreptitiously covered his chin with a hand. He’d had his manhood already insulted not two minutes in, but still, he had to admit it was good seeing that these dark times seemed to have little effect on Aranea’s unfailing spirit. His ego would bounce back quickly enough.

“It’s been... what, three years, six months, and eight days since we last saw each other?” Prompto asked, eyeing the bartender as he approached on the other side of the counter. “Whatever she’s having is fine.” Prompto jerked his head in Aranea’s direction.

“It’ll put hair on your chest, kid.” Aranea grinned, elbowing Prompto _not so lightly_. “And I’m flattered you were counting the days.”

“Oh, but of course. Especially since we parted on such _bad terms_.” Prompto raised out his arms for emphasis, as if they separated because of some trifling lover’s spat. They locked eyes after that, a brief silence between them, and it all came flashing back. An army of MTs, the flashing of bullets and blades, the horrific, demonic screams as they cut down clone after clone after clone after—

“And yet here you are, just as scrumptious as I remember you.” Aranea’s lips curled into a smile, once again tugging Prompto back to reality. “I heard from some of the Hunters that you’re going for that whole strong, independent, lone wolf type thing now.” She leaned in, pitched her voice to a low whisper. “Does it really get you that much pussy?”

Prompto nearly fell off of his seat laughing. He laughed so hard he choked on his spit, grabbing the fingerprint-smudged glass with a healthy dose of brown lighter fluid in it that the bartender had just slid before him and tossing it back to ease his cough, only it had the opposite effect. Only after a few good, hard slaps to the back courtesy of Aranea did his cough (and laughter) cease.

“You’re asking around about me? That’s cute.” Prompto wiped a tear from his eye as he settled the last of his cough out of his throat.

Aranea shrugged. “No more than any _decent_ friend would. What’s brought the lone wolf back to civilization this time?”

“Resupply. I’m headed back out tomorrow.”

Aranea hummed in response.

“What about you?”

“Same, really. Headed out towards the Disc tomorrow.”

Prompto took a sip from his glass, wondering how Aranea could stand this shit, whatever it was. “What a coincidence.”

Aranea flashed him a sly grin. “We always had something for coincidences.”

_Yeah, a coincidence that you’d fought your way through the research facility I was taken to, that we’d both manage to escape with our lives, that later in that cave you’d hold me down, that I’d get turned on, that—_

“Ayup.” Prompto took another sip, hoping the pure ethanol he was drinking would be a believable enough excuse for the red tinge the tips of his ears had taken on.

“Surprised the big guy and the prince’s royal ass wiper aren’t here with you.” She eyed him carefully as she took a sip from her glass.

“We, uh... we kinda split up a while ago.” Prompto took another sip.

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

“No, it was... mutually agreeable. I still see them, here and there.”

“Jeez, sounds like you guys filed for a divorce or something. You split custody on the car, too?” Aranea smiled at him, then sobered slightly. “In all seriousness, though, that sucks. Always hard when a group like that breaks apart.”

“Yeah.”

She set down her glass and traced a fingertip around its edge. “So you’re in town for the night, and wanted to enjoy the fine local color before shipping out again?”

“More like just kill time.”

“That it?” She eyed him up and down, like a hungry fox.

“Yeah..?” Prompto blinked her. “Caravans don’t run 24/7. Don’t tell me you’re here for the finest liquor Eos can offer, ‘cause I hate to break it to you, but…”

“Deep down, I’d wager we’re here for the same reason, really.”

Prompto tilted his head slightly, flashing Aranea an incredulous look.

“Oh?”

Aranea swiveled on her stool to face Prompto. She crossed her legs, rubbing one of her feet up Prompto’s calf. “I’m here to get laid, dummy.”

Prompto blinked once, twice, then downed the rest of his drink in one painful gulp.

\---

They were on the derelict excuse of a couch before he knew what hit him. Aranea’s mouth was hot and insistent on his, hands harried as they roamed over his back and shoulders. She didn’t let up for a moment once they’d made it up the three flights of rickety stairs—her tongue was working its way down Prompto’s throat as she fished out her key from an unseen pocket, unlocked the door to her motel room, and kicked it shut once they had made it inside. Aranea pushed Prompto back into the room with her hips and he fell back onto the couch, sending a _poof_ of dust into the air. Only then did Aranea allow their mouths to separate.

Blinking his wide eyes to adjust to the gloom of the room, Prompto fought to catch his breath. Aranea smiled coyly at him and lowered herself into his lap, straddling his thighs. She rested her arms on Prompto’s shoulders, intertwining her hands behind him.

“This gonna be a repeat of last time?” Aranea cocked her head to the side and moved her eyes over Prompto’s frozen features.

When he didn’t respond quickly enough, she rolled her hips forward against his groin and smiled cherubically at the breathy gasp she elicited from him.

“Blondie, c’mon,” she dragged out the final syllable teasingly as she slowly gyrated her hips against him.

Prompto brought his hands to Aranea’s hips and held them still. He wasn’t nervous, per say, even under Aranea’s inquisitive and sharp gaze, nor was he intimidated by the idea of being intimate with someone like her. _Someone who didn’t believe in bullshit._ Prompto wasn’t a kid anymore—he’d been with other people since the cave, but it was always the same. Quick breathy grunts and moans, fumbling for zippers and clasps in the dark, harsh and quick staccato thrusts. Did he even kiss any of them? Prompto couldn’t remember. He did remember that he always pulled out when a condom wasn’t available, a strong believer that no child should be brought into the apocalypse _._ The added clean up would’ve only compromised them further, he would also reason. They were always quick, impromptu dealings, always ending with one going on watch while the other slept it off. No romantics and no shenanigans.

There were no feelings here—they weren’t star-crossed lovers or secret paramours—but maybe it was because Aranea was from his past, before the world ended. Maybe because she took pity on him, because she had a soft spot for him. Or maybe, simply, it was just because she saw him for him. That from the way she was looking at him, eyes clear despite the alcohol, she wasn’t imagining there was someone else underneath her.

The last thing Prompto wanted now was a harried repeat of their night together in the cave. He didn’t want to just thrust away in the dark, to shut his eyes so tight he saw stars, and open them when it was all over. He wanted to see her, and wanted her to be aware of his gaze on her.

Without warning, Prompto pushed Aranea off his lap and to the side, quickly swapping their positions so Aranea was sitting on the couch and he was kneeling on it, his legs slotted on either side of Aranea’s left thigh. He slid off his shoulder holster and set it gently on the floor, getting it out of the way, then moved either hand to Aranea’s waist and worked up her top with his thumbs, rubbing her soft skin in small circles.

“Wanna just… take our time?” Prompto tried to shoot her a cocky grin, but worried that it came out far more sincere than intended.

Aranea’s expression cracked ever so slightly for a moment, thrown by his honesty. She quickly recovered and traced a finger up Prompto’s chest, drawing a slow circle around his right pec through his shirt. “Okay….”

The way her voice trailed off pulled something in Prompto’s chest. There was something hesitant, something a little disbelieving in it, Prompto guessed more out of a lack of experience with this kind of encounter more than a lack of trust in _him_. _Not like he was one to brag about his exploits, but—_

Prompto silenced his self-doubt by pressing his lips to Aranea’s once more. He cupped her cheek with one hand and rubbed his thumb across her jaw, coaxing her to open for him. She readily complied, tipping her head back slightly and parting her lips for him, her hands finding purchase on his hip and chest.

Prompto dragged his other hand from Aranea’s hip up her side, stopping just south of her breast. He rubbed her plushness tentatively with his thumb, then as Aranea hastily brought a hand to the back of Prompto’s skull and raked her fingers through his hair, encouraging him, he shifted his palm upwards, groping it wholesale.

Aranea moaned into his mouth and arched her back to his touch, her fingers tugging steadily on Prompto’s hair. Prompto dragged his other hand up to Aranea’s other breast and palmed it eagerly. He could feel the thick material of her bra through the relatively thin fabric of her tank top. It didn’t exactly feel lacy, but Prompto could appreciate function over form, especially given their circumstances. The only thing on his mind in the moment was how fast he could get both items off her and onto the floor.

As if she could read his mind, Aranea pulled back from the kiss, yanked her top up and over her head, and tossed it into the dark. She was wearing a black sports bra, utilitarian and simple in design, but the way the tight nylon pressed her tits together, combined with her red, slightly parted lips, made the image something he’d not soon forget.

Before Aranea could shuck her bra Prompto was on her. Cupping her tits with both hands, he bent his head down to her cleavage, licking and kissing her soft skin. Beneath the layer of smoke and hint of sweat, she smelled distinctly feminine—a floral remnant from that morning’s shower, maybe.

With her head dipped back, one of Aranea’s hands found Prompto’s thigh and gave it a firm squeeze. Prompto, meanwhile, left a trail of messy kisses and marks from the suction of his mouth, using his fingers to pull back the bra and gain more access. Aranea eventually huffed in frustration and roughly yanked up her bra over her shoulders and tossed it behind her. Prompto couldn’t help but grin, delighting in the slight dance Aranea’s tits did as they were freed.

Wasting little time, Prompto dove back to her chest, cupping and kneading both with his hands and running his tongue over one of her nipples. Prompto felt his cheeks go hot when he realized this was really the first time he’d seen, let alone felt up, Aranea’s tits, but quickly decided it was well worth the wait. They were large and had a definite weight in his hands, and frankly he wondered how Aranea managed half the acrobatics she was capable of with the added cumbersome load (the additional thought of Ignis with tits like these doing his back handsprings made him sputter with laughter). Despite their size, Aranea was receptive to his touch, meaning a lack of sensitivity was a nonissue—the whiny, needy sounds from her throat as he tweaked one nipple and flicked the other with his tongue all but confirmed this.

Not content to just become putty in Prompto’s hands, however, Aranea leaned forward slightly and slid a hand up his thigh, slotted between her legs. Her palm was hot, burning even, and the firm pressure she exerted sent jolts of electricity to his stomach when it nearly reached his hip.

“I didn’t realize you were such a tit guy, Blondie,” she murmured, her words a touch slurred—either a delayed symptom of the liquor or an effect from Prompto’s quicksilver tongue.

Prompto relinquished the hold he had on one of her breasts with a wet _pop_ and grinned up at her. “Would it be weird if I said I’ve wanted to motorboat these puppies since I first laid eyes on you?”

Aranea frowned slightly, but cocked an eyebrow playfully. Taking that as an invitation, Prompto comically took in a deep breath and pressed her tits together, but before he could make good on actualizing his dream, Aranea clasped her hands to either side of his face and drew Prompto in to another deep kiss, after which he was left gasping.

“Off.” She growled, yanking off Prompto’s shirt. Prompto’s hands quickly found the hem and pulled it up and over his head, getting it caught momentarily on his ears. Before the shirt was even fully off, her hands were on his chest and she rolled her thumb over one of his nipples and cupped his pec.

Meanwhile, Aranea’s mouth had found his neck. She dragged her wet lips and teeth up his skin, sending a shiver down Prompto’s spine. His hands settled on her waist and hip, palms hot and damp with perspiration. Aranea continued her messy trail north till she found Prompto’s ear and nibbled the lobe lightly.

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered into his ear, her voice breathy and a touch gravelly.

Her words made the hair on the back of Prompto’s neck stand on edge and shot a happy signal straight down to his dick. Aranea pulled back slightly, brow cocked in a semi-challenging manner as if to ask _and just what Prompto was going to do about it._

Despite his ruddy cheeks, Prompto cracked one of the most big-dicked, confident smiles he could muster. “You’re just like all the others. Just obsessed with my body with zero care for my personality or intellect.”

Aranea brought a hand to the base of his skull and shoved his face down into her cleavage. Not one to be deterred, he kissed a trail between her tits and down her stomach as he moved himself off the couch and onto the floor. Languorously, he swirled his tongue around her navel and Aranea leaned back against the back of the couch, watching him all the while through her downturned eyes.

Prompto flicked the top button of her jeans open and pulled down the zipper. He tugged on the denim as Aranea lifted her hips to allow them be fully pulled down, and once they were clear of her feet he wadded them up and flung them over his shoulder. Prompto swallowed as he took in the sight of her, clad just in simple black panties.

Prompto grabbed her hips with both hands and pulled her forwards so her ass was right on the edge of the couch. Aranea sunk down into the cushions, allowing her legs to fall apart with Prompto kneeling before her groin. She had long legs—something Prompto was well aware of—but aside from the quick glances he’d gotten in three years ago, the sight of them so exposed was exhilaratingly new.

Lightly, he traced his fingertips up her legs from the tops of her feet, over her calves and knees, to the tops of her thighs. He could feel the toned muscle through a soft layer of fat, and ghosted his touch over the silver scars that crisscrossed her skin here and there. He could feel the muscles in her thighs tense slightly as his fingers traced down and inwards.

Prompto leaned in and planted a kiss on the inside of one of Aranea’s knees, then dragged his lips up the line of her leg and left a sloppy kiss just shy of her pussy. He looked up to find Aranea watching him intently, lips slightly apart and a rosy flush across her cheeks. Prompto stuck the tip of his tongue out between his lips, moved his head slightly to the side so it just _barely_ missed the heat of her pussy, and licked a fat stripe up the meat of her other inner thigh.

Frustrated, Aranea rolled her hips up against up, hurrying him on. “Thought you were gonna fuck me.” The nearly undignified whine her voice carried tempted Prompto to hurry things along, but he steeled himself, determined to take his time. Prompto slotted his palms under Aranea’s ass instead and traced his thumbs over the hem of her panties.

“Hold your horses, girl. Let a _man_ work his magic.”

He could see her chew the inside of her cheek, brows jutted together in a wonderfully childish display of a total lack of impulse control. _Might as well indulge her a_ little _bit._

Prompto poked the tip of his nose against her covered clit, but before Aranea could even think of rutting against him in a repeat of last time, he moved south down her slit. He could feel her dampness through the thin fabric, and notched a thumb slightly higher to press against her entrance through her panties. She was hot against his thumb pad, and she squirmed underneath him, even with the slightest application of pressure.

Preempting any further protests from Aranea, Prompto replaced his thumb with his tongue and traced it up her covered slit to her clit. Prompto opened his mouth and slotted it over the top of her pussy, and lapped his tongue over her, coaxing her clit to harden. Aranea’s thighs wavered slightly, closing in around Prompto’s head momentarily here and there, and he felt the powerful muscles in her thighs tremble.

 _Finally_ , Prompto pulled his left hand out from under Aranea’s ass and moved it up to her inner thigh. He pulled the damp fabric to the side, exposing her wonderfully, _flatteringly_ wet cunt. He didn’t even have the state of mind to make some snappy remark he was so enamored with the sight of Aranea open and aroused not two inches from his face.

Prompto lapped up the residual wetness around her entrance, then licked a fat stripe up and over her clit. Aranea let out a needy moan and it was music to his ears. He worked his tongue in small, slow circles around her clit, laughing to himself as he found he needed to move his other hand to hold open Aranea’s thighs. She tasted a touch bitter, hardly offensive, and tip of his nose tickled slightly as it rubbed against her ash blonde pubic hair. He shot a cursory glance up at her and found her eyes shut tight, head twisted down slightly into her shoulder. One hand was squeezing one of her tits as the other, clamped down on Prompto’s on her thigh, palm hot and sweaty.

Prompto, too, closed his eyes as he brought his lips around Aranea’s clit and sucked lightly on it. From his hands on her thighs he could feel ever twitch and sputter, and his ears perked up at every sigh and hitched breath. Trusting Aranea not to immediately crush his head like a melon, he pulled his right hand out from her grasp and, after rubbing his index finger in the new wetness that had accumulated in her slit, eased his finger inside of her, palm down.

She was hot like a goddamn furnace. His finger slid in with ease, and he worked it in and out of her slowly. Aranea arched back and wiggled her ass under Prompto’s attention, biting her lip to stifle a moan. Prompto turned his hand up, finger still inside, and easily slid in a second digit. The lurid sucking sounds from Prompto’s mouth on Aranea’s clit combined with the squelching of his fingers working her pussy made Prompto’s cock grow hard in his pants.

Aranea’s hand on her tit shot to the back of Prompto’s head and she got a fistful of his hair. Tugging on it hard, but not _too_ painfully, she encouraged Prompto to work her harder. Prompto traded sucking on her clit for flicking his tongue over it, delighting in how it tried to pull back into its hood each time his tongue hit it. At the same time, he curled his fingers up and worked his hand faster in and out of her entrance, fingertips hitting the nub that he assumed was her g-spot.

“Harder.” Aranea shifted her other hand to hold open her leg.

Prompto gave her clit a final solid lick before pulling back and free of Aranea’s grasp, panting slightly. Face hot, cheeks wet, he grinned up at her. “As you wish.”

Angling his forearm and fingers up, Prompto fucked Aranea with reckless abandon, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out quickly replaced with a sound more akin to sluicing water. Aranea curled her toes and bit down on her lower lip hard.

“Stop and I kill you,” she grunted, jaw clenched.

Prompto shifted his weight on his knees to give himself the best angle at her sweet spot, noting the newfound tightness in his pants, his cock straining against the front of them. He drove his hand powerfully in and out, as Aranea meanwhile furiously rubbed her clit.

From there it didn’t take long. Prompto wished he had the opportunity to snap a photo of the obscenity before him, but there was no time.

Aranea’s breath hitched suddenly and the wet sounds from her cunt suddenly gave way to actual fluid spewing forth from her around Prompto’s hand. It came in jutting spurts, dousing Prompto’s arm and chest and the carpet beneath him, but neither of them cared. He felt Aranea’s muscles clench and tighten dramatically around his fingers and her thighs twitched and convulsed as her orgasm rattled her body, her own hand on her clit moving haphazardly until the sensation was too much to bear and she removed it.

Prompto continued his assault through the course of her orgasm maintaining an unrelenting series of hard staccato thrusts. By the time he finally slowed, Aranea was _whimpering_ , and as he withdrew his gooey fingers, a final gush of fluid quickly followed. Prompto leaned in once more and flicked Aranea’s clit with his tongue a few more times for good measure, enjoying the way she flinched each time.

Shakily she let go of her thigh and let her legs drop, feet hitting the soiled carpet. Chest rising and falling deeply, she looked down at Prompto, still between her legs, and he flashed her two finger guns. “Did I rock your world, or what?”

Aranea rolled her eyes and quickly sat forward, somehow recovered, and grabbed Prompto by the shoulders, pulling him back on top of her. Her hands found his belt and she made quick work of it, tearing it open. “Why the fuck are these still on?”

Prompto fumbled with his zipper and almost fell back as he worked one leg out of his pants, then the other, while still straddling Aranea. She caught him before he could fall and snaked her arms around his back, crushing his chest against hers. His cock, awkwardly tenting his boxer-briefs, rubbed against her stomach, leaving a slightly damp trail of precome through the fabric.

Skin on skin, the heat and plushness of Aranea’s chest on his plunged Prompto’s mind into a pleasant haze. Aranea’s lips found his neck and she left a series of sucking marks across his skin and over his Adam’s apple. Prompto shuddered at the sensation and involuntarily rolled his hips up, the small taste of friction on his cock sending little jolts of electricity up his spine.

Aranea raked her nails down Prompto’s back and brought her hand between their bodies. She dragged a finger up the side of his still covered cock, and Prompto shuddered and tipped his head down, moaning into the crook of Aranea’s neck. Aranea turned her head and nipped at Prompto’s ear as she stuck her hand underneath the elastic band of his underwear and enclosed his cock in her fist.

Prompto thrust up into her hand and Aranea bit down on his earlobe. “Slow down there, partner.” Prompto could feel her swirl her thumb over his slit and had to fight to keep himself from being unseated. “You have to make good on your word.”

He tried to respond, but a needy whine got out first. Prompto swallowed, then let out a breathy laugh. “Fingers don’t count all of the sudden?”

Aranea firmed up her grip all of the sudden, snapping him to attention. “How do you want me?” Her voice, pitched low and husky with arousal, sent an intense shiver down Prompto’s spine and nodded, knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Turn around.” He pulled himself away from Aranea’s hold and got to his feet. Eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, she turned herself around and onto her knees, not missing the sight of Prompto tugging down his boxer-briefs and kicking them off his ankles. Aranea rested her elbows on the back of the couch, arched her back, and wagged her ass invitingly at Prompto.

“Why the hell are these still on?” His voice was light and teasing in spite of the way he yanked down her damp panties to her mid-thigh.

Aranea looked back at him, a devious glint in her eye. “Aw, he’s just like I remember him.”

She was, of course, referring to his dick—still smooth, still leaning slightly to the left, and its base still swathed in a mass of blonde curls. He had a new kinda cool scar on his right hip where an imp had scratched him good, but otherwise he was largely the same. Grinning at her, Prompto gave his cock a firm stroke from root to tip.

The way Aranea arched her back a touch more, exposing her wet cunt to him, nearly made him giggle like an idiot. His hand moved faster than his brain and before he knew what he was doing, he delivered a firm _slap_ to her right asscheek.

The crisp sound of his palm striking her seemed to echo through the room and Prompto instantly felt his stomach _drop_ , anticipating a blow to his face, or heaven forbid his dick, from a very angry Aranea.

Instead, Aranea pushed herself up, reached around, grabbing Prompto by the hip, and sharply pulled him against her ass—any fears of retribution quickly wiped out.

Steadying himself with one hand on Aranea’s hip, Prompto guided his cock against her slit, not quite ready to just dive in. Aranea let out a breathy sigh and widened her knees, giving him easier access.

“Blondie, you’re killing me here.” She rocked her hips up and down on Prompto’s cock, straining to make contact between her clit and him.

Prompto moved hips back a hair, denying her. “You really want it bad, don’t you?”

Aranea huffed in frustration, jutted her ass back further into Prompto.

Prompto delivered another crisp _slap_ to her right asscheek and she keened in pleasure, small hands drawn into tight fists on the couch back. “Use your words.”

“I want you to fuck me, and I swear—” she shot her gaze back at him, an edge of that signature steeliness in her eyes—“if you don’t hurry up—”

Prompto angled his hips up and, gripping Aranea’s with one hand, used the other to guide the tip of his cock inside her.

“ _Finally_ ,” Aranea sighed and Prompto could feel her muscles relax around him, urging him in. She was as wet and hot as she was just before, and even with her consciously relaxing herself, she was tight around him. Prompto clenched his jaw as he pressed in, gripping either side of her hips.

For all intents and purposes, it was the same as any other time he’d had sex with a woman; the physical sensation didn’t really differ from one person to the next. But maybe—when he bottomed out and he regained partial control over his senses—and he heard Aranea’s rough voice edged with something undeniably soft, yet still so distinctly _her_ , everything felt different in a decidedly _very_ good way.

Her head had rocked forward, forehead nearly against the couch back, and though he could only catch a glimpse of her features through her hair, her words were clear. “Fuck me, Prompto.”

If it were possible for Prompto’s dick to grow two sizes that day, it fucking happened.

Hoping his sweaty palms wouldn’t slip against Aranea’s already slick skin, he pulled back and snapped his hips forward suddenly, eliciting a sharp gasp from Aranea. Prompto repeated this another time before settling into a quick but steady pace, and Aranea brought a hand between her legs and rubbed her clit furiously like she was making a mad dash to the finish line.

Prompto felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back between his shoulder blades. He squeezed Aranea’s hip with his left hand and used his right to spank her ass once, twice more—the second sending her quickly over the edge. He grit his teeth as Aranea’s muscles convulsed around him, squeezing him tight like a bear trap then relinquishing their hold momentarily, only to clench up again somehow _tighter_.

Aranea cried out as she rode out her orgasm, toes curling on either side of Prompto, her hand jerky and haphazard on her clit. Instead of letting up or slowing down, though, Prompto opted instead to hike a leg up onto the couch, giving him a better angle, and bore down harder into her cunt, admiring the sight of red blooming across her ass where he had spanked her.

Not one to be _completely_ heartless, however, Prompto leaned forward and kissed Aranea’s back and shoulder blades, his hands finding her tits, jostled by each and every thrust, and kneaded them, thumbs and fingers brushing over and tweaking her nipples when they found them.

The _fuck_ Aranea ground out through gritted teeth combined with the obscenely wet sound of wet skin smacking against skin threatened to push Prompto over the edge, too, but he wasn’t ready to let things end just yet.

Prompto slid his hands from Aranea’s tits to her waist and he pushed himself upright again. He slowed his unrelenting pace and tugged at Aranea’s waist. “Move to your left.”

She was pliant under his hold, and he helped guide her into place, on her hands and knees across the couch cushions, left leg finding footing on the ground. Prompto moved with her, right knee slotted between her right thigh and the couch back, his left grounded on the floor. Gently, he pressed her back down with a sturdy palm between her shoulders, so her ass and glistening cunt were pointed up at him.

“Atta girl.” He rewarded her compliance with a few languid thrusts, wringing out an additional couple desperate sighs from her. Prompto drank in the sight of Aranea pressed low beneath him, back beaded with sweat, hips rolling to meet his thrusts.

“Think you got one more in you?” Prompto reached a hand around her thigh and his fingertips found her over sensitive clit.

Aranea’s shoulders flinched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she shot a fierce look back, challenging him. “Go for it.”

Prompto didn't need to be told twice.

He quickly reestablished his previous pace, savagely bucking into her as his hand worked her clit with harried precision. Aranea stifled a harsh cry, but could do little to stem the others behind it. Her left leg began to waver and Prompto could feel her muscles fluttering around his cock, thinking she was nearly there, but her orgasm still took him by surprise. Her muscles clamped down hard around him, somehow harder than before, but he kept on, working her through the sensation.

Prompto hopped forward a hair with his left foot and pressed Aranea’s back down further, allowing him a higher angle to thrust down into her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Aranea’s voice was nearly hoarse from use, but the contractions subsided, easing up on Prompto’s cock.

He could feel he was close and the thought of knocking her up passed through the periphery of his mind. He didn’t even ask if she had a condom, didn’t even think of it in the heat of the moment. Prompto slowed his thrusts and brought his hands to Aranea’s hips to steady himself as he began to pull out. Before his tip made it out, however, Aranea reached an arm back and grabbed his thigh.

“I don’t care, just do it.”

“But—”

“I want you to come inside, okay?”

Prompto felt his cheeks flush a shade darker and he complied. A scant few thrusts later he was losing himself deep inside her, hands grasping for purchase on Aranea's sweat sheened hips. He jerkily thrust through his orgasm, eyes nearly crossed by the time was completely spent. He backed off, pulling out his softening cock and collapsed onto the couch, stomach fluttering at the glimpse of his come leaking out of Aranea's pussy as she pushed herself up.

“Shiva’s tits, kid, when’s the last time you blew your load?”

Prompto’s brows pulled together in confusion and he tried to cut through the thick, pleasant haze his mind was covered in to get her meaning.

Aranea flopped herself down on the couch, nonchalantly stuck a hand between her legs and showed him a gob of his come. “Been saving up?”

Prompto pushed himself up. “ _I_ wanted to pull out.” He sighed through his nose. “Should we like… do something about it..?”

“Yeah, get me a tissue, jeez.” Aranea feigned disgust at the white goo on her hand.

“No, I mean… y’know, I don’t really think either of us are exactly _parental material_.”

The look Aranea shot his way was completely inscrutable to him. Not quite anger, pragmatic but still slightly offended for reasons Prompto couldn’t ascertain.

“Righto.” She got to her feet and stepped around Prompto’s flailed out limbs. She padded over to the small bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Prompto could hear the water running and wondered if he’d fucked up as he put on his discarded pants and underwear. When Aranea returned a few minutes later, wearing an oversized t-shirt, she sat back down on the couch (avoiding a wet patch) and patted the other side with her foot. Prompto sat.

“So why don’t you hang around Lestallum anymore?”

Out of all the things she could say, that was the last thing he was expecting.

“What..?”

“I met up with your buddies a few weeks ago, y’know. They said they hadn’t seen heads nor tails of you in… six months?” She had her arms crossed and was looking forward at the wall, as if she wasn’t yet ready to _accuse_ him or anything. “They didn’t say it in so many words, but they seemed concerned.”

Prompto blinked at her, then looked down to his hands in his lap.

“They have every right to be. I mean, you know what the world’s like now.”

Aranea sighed through her nose. “Ignis said he’d come back to Lestallum, only to find that your guys’ place was no longer _yours_. Kinda cruel to do to a blind guy, don’t you think?”

Prompto bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to make things weird, it seemed logical at the time. Why hold onto a place no one even liked or used?

“He wasn’t mad, so you know. Just… _worried_.” Aranea finally looked at him, that same inscrutable look on her face. “So what’s going on with you?”

Prompto laughed. “What? Is that why you invited me back here? To check on me? You coulda just asked at the bar, no need to put out.”

“The two aren’t related, idiot. I wanted to fuck you, you were up for it, so I did. End of story. And I didn’t promise to check in on you or anything. From the way Four-Eyes fawned over the prince, I just took it as an overactive imagination and having too much time on his hands. But it’s kinda obvious something’s up with you, now that I’m here.”

Prompto couldn’t bring himself to say anything back.

“Look, at the end of the day it’s your own business. I’m not gonna force you to talk about it.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “Everything’s pretty much fucked, yeah, but don’t think you’ve lost everyone who gives a shit about you, okay?”

“It smells here.” Prompto said lamely, eyes boring holes in his hands.

“Huh..?”

“That’s why I don’t stay here anymore. It’s the fucking smell.”

He could feel Aranea’s eyes on him but made no attempt to look over at her or explain himself. It was obvious to him now, but he had no idea how to verbalize the rapid-fire thoughts that were overwhelming his mind, now that he had uttered those few words. After acknowledging it, after putting it out there, he could begin to smell the city again, like it had finally managed to seep in through the walls and under the door. The sour, sun-roasted garbage.

The _fucking smell_ —the way it clawed its way to everything, his clothes, his hair, how it followed him no matter how much he washed himself. The way it permeated his mouth, made his eyes water, how the apartment just reeked of it, the shitty apartment the three of them had shared. It made him remember the days Ignis wouldn’t even get out of bed, the times Gladio would just _disappear_ for weeks at a time. The nights where Prompto would wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, the scarred barcode on his wrist burning.

Even worse, the smell reminded him of how things had been. Of the days and weeks the four had spent in the city years ago, when, despite Insomnia’s hostile takeover and the deaths of so many, things felt lighter and easier. He could remember them just walking around the city, down random streets like tourists, taking in the sights, how they didn’t argue or fight then, how Prompto could always make Noct crack a smile and laugh at some lame joke he’d told.

But then reality would come crashing down.

They had fucking lost. They failed—they were here and alive and helpless and Noct—his best fucking friend in the world and the person he had chosen to protect with his life, was just gone. He was all that was keeping them together, and without him… Prompto had fucking nothing. Just a smelly fucking apartment and two ‘roommates’ who for all intents and purposes were living in separate worlds.

So fuck the apartment, fuck Lestallum—fuck everything and everyone left standing in this shithole of a world—

Aranea pulled him against her tightly, snapping him out of this thoughts. He realized a moment later he was crying and shame flashed across his face as he fought to wipe his eyes and nose. Aranea didn’t say anything to try and console him, just rocked with him slowly, arms tight around him. After a short while, it worked.

Prompto calmed down after a few minutes and straightened slightly. Aranea pulled back her touch and scooted a few inches away from him, giving him space.

“I think I got some beer in the fridge, if you want one.”

Prompto sniffled and gave her a sideways glance, as if to try and discern her reaction to his minor breakdown. She was just looking straight ahead like before, as if she was trying to protect his dignity—and for that he was grateful.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Aranea got up and padded over to the ancient fridge. She opened the door and pulled out two brown bottles. Just before she closed it, she looked over at him. “Just let them know you’re okay.”

Prompto nodded. “Yeah.”

Aranea nodded back and closed the fridge door. Prompto accepted the beer Aranea handed him and she plopped down on the couch next to him, cracking hers open. The two drank in silence until both bottles were empty.

\---

Hours later, Prompto woke before Aranea, easing himself out of the bed to avoid rousing her. He dressed in silence and checked over his gear—everything was accounted for. But before he let himself out, though, he couldn’t resist the urge to take just one picture, that rare, rare spark catching inside of him.

Inserting the film he’d just found the day before was a breeze even in the dark, and he was careful to wind past the used exposures. Carefully, he turned on one of the lamps in the room giving just enough light to get the shot, but hopefully not making too much noise as to wake Aranea.

She was curled up on her side, tangled in the sheet, out like a light. He didn’t want a lurid shot of her tits hanging out, or some kind of trophy or anything like that, just he felt the urge to capture the image—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He snapped a quick shot of her then turned off the light. Prompto tucked his camera back into the bottom of his bag and was off.

Once outside Prompto headed straight for the city gate to find the caravan he’d be hitching a ride with, though he had no real direction in mind. The smell was there, ever present as always, but beneath it, he swore he caught a hint of something else. Vaguely floral, decidedly feminine.

He didn’t know when he and Aranea would next cross paths, but a part of him thought he wouldn’t mind stopping through Lestallum _a bit_ more often, if only for the chance of seeing her again.


End file.
